A bard in time saves...

[Metarie]

Everett yet again launched into biting comments focused on her and Lucian, as if that had any bearing on anything. The ugliness was uncalled for and unnecessary. Straight-backed, Metarie paused.

“You are a fine one to lecture on courtesy Everett Young. My hearing is better than any in this room. I will be able to hear what is said no matter where I am in this house.”

"You're not gonna find some tree-hugging Romeo in the adjacent room to give you the fucking moans, Metarie. It's time to be responsible here. Whether you like it or not, you're involved now. Time to start acting like it.""

Everett’s comments turned ludicrous. For him to say anything regarding responsibility to Metarie was like saying Belacadrus is human. Now, more than anything, she wanted Everett gone. Metarie kept walking until Camulous responded. Turning back to the group at the table, she gave Camulous a look of thanks.

Metarie raised her eyebrows. “Everett, you have attacked me personally for something that is irrelevant to the information you are seeking. Why you are attacking me I do not know, nor do I understand it." Metarie placed her right hand on Everett’s prosthetic arm. "May I remind you that you originally came here for my help? Any return visit I suspect is motivated more by Lanya’s presence than an act of good samaratism on your part.”

Metarie stared at Everett. Her eyes seemed more black than green and gold. The look in her eye was wholly unhuman and purely elf. “I believe that any information you want can be better found outside of this house.” There was an odd metallic scent in the air that comes from electrical wiring that is experiencing a short. “You should also go see Rosie. Your arm is not fully repaired.”

[Alibi of Tyrants]

Everett was amused at the captain's defense. Now there was some irony. "Yeah, and this is coming from a guy who can't even tell good apples from bad. Word to the wise, bud: You should start hacking off the arms of guys who really deserve it. You know, like the elf-hating shitheads that get their rocks off of raping said object of their hatred." He nodded slightly in the general direction of Metarie, who had just emerged from her preemptive sulk to come out and join the rest of them.

The gumshoe rested his flesh-and-bone forearm on the table and then leaned in close to Camulous, eyes narrowing very slowly and his jaw set into a strict line of sternness and commandment. To make a point, Everett lowered his voice and strongly emphasized the following sentence: "And if you wanna talk about the fetid rocks that people live under pal, then I suggest you start scurrying out from underneath of yours. In case you didn't know, I liason with you shitheads on cases that you are all too stupid to crack. So technically I do work for you." There was a gruff sigh as he leaned back into his chair and peered over at Metarie. Though he gazed straight at her, his last comment was solely directed at the Captain. "Take off your damn helmet once in a while and air out your fucking brain."

[Camulous Smithson]

Everett kept going but Camulous had already said what he had to say. Anything else that came out of Everett's mouth sounded like nothing more than childish ranting to him. Ranting from a man too bitter about his own situation and too spoiled over his own self image to know when to hold his tongue. Even when his rant was about helping a person who was in the very same room, he was more interested in bludgeoning the captain with his views than doing what it took to get said help.

He said something about good and bad apples, like Camulous didn't know which was which, and leaned forward in an impassioned display of backbone that Camulous could not take seriously. Camulous didn't even dignify it with a look back.

Someone with no real responsibilities in his life was trying to tell a captain he didn't know how to do his job. It was a typical accusation, the likes of which formed the more irritating aspect of his often thankless job. It was the kind of thing that most often came from the mouthes of politicians. A beating with the tome of wisdom would do Everett plenty of good.

Finally he went too far.

I liason with you shitheads on cases that you are all too stupid to crack. So technically I do work for you.

That career was over. Camulous would make sure of that by the end of the day. Moreover an arrest was now sounding tempting. Everett was lucky that Camulous was not like so many guardsmen, that he had a sense of dignity that even the most impassioned and callous claptrap could not remove. Said honor code did not conflict with a physical response to repeated insults. On the contrary, it called for a stand to be taken eventually.

Camulous placed his hands on the table and stood up.

"That's enough." He was not mad, but his voice was strong. Being louder than unruly men was in his job description. "Heap your infantile abuse on women all you like. They may take it from you, but I will not. You leave - now - or I will show you what the real bad apples can do."

[Lanya Caliope]

As Camulous stood and threatened, Lanya sighed and shook her head, unsure of letting this Everett become any more involved than he currently was. Half of her expected Metarie to be struck down the moment she left this house, and she had to admit a certain surprise that Camulous still stood whole and hale. Perhaps taking her to jail had broken the chain.

She did not want them to fight or otherwise scuffle. There was no use for any of it, and this Camulous was the captain of the guard. Her hand came up to pinch the bridge of her nose again, and she sent a quietly spoken plea into the nothing.

"Please, please don't fight."

Now her voice rose beyond what Camulous had said as she gave Everett something of a pleading look.

"It might help to remember that we are not the sort you are used to interrogating."

She couldn't help a tone of amusement as she spoke. Did he even have the ability to turn his abrasiveness off?

"A less caustic approach, perhaps."

It was a random point to make, after all that had happened, but if this Everett was any good as an investigator, it couldn't hurt to have one on their side. And it certainly didn't seem as though he planned on leaving soon. Metarie had made it quite clear she didn't want him here any longer. He didn't seem to care.

And perhaps some small part of Lanya was enjoying his abrasiveness as a sort of revenge for being abandoned at sight of a pretty face. The more she allowed herself to think about it, the more she realized that it was lucky nothing had happened to her while Metarie lay thoroughly distracted in the other room. If Lucian had been intended as a spy to get to any one of them, whoever was using him had missed out on a perfect opportunity.

Struck with an idea, she creased her brow. She did not know what Everett thought she might know, but there was another question that needed to be answered. She decided to ask in the same quiet tone she'd used before addressing Everett, and see who might be listening.

"Why would they brand him, to spy? What's here that's so important?"

[Metarie]

Metarie looked at Camulous, watching him. She had expected things would come to this. Metarie let her fingers slip from Everett's metal arm and looked at the arm again. She could see streamers of malfunctioning magic seeping from between the gears and joints. Perhaps, it would settle on its own. Metarie stepped back from the two men and leaned against the wall, letting her hand rest upon her ribs. She closed her eyes and ignored them all. She had to heal them if she were going to be of any use this day.

Murmuring to herself softly, she began to concentrate on what was necessary.

[Alibi of Tyrants]

Oh, boy. Looks like the Captain of the Guard was finally going to take off those kid gloves of his and actually do the legwork of his illustrious underlings all by his lonesome. That suited Everett fine; in instances like this, when fanciful words aimed straight for the jugular failed, there was nothing like a good clean rebuke delivered right to the chin by a big fist. It was go time!

It wasn't that Everett didn't mind authority. No, he was smart enough to know that anarchy was a pretty shitty concept and that rules need to be in place to make sure things don't fall apart. The problem was he didn't like the authority that the Guard doled out. In several instances, over the course of several years, he has seen the Guard demonstrate a horrendous amount of apathy towards the elements that make this city as corpse-like and as dead as it was. Rather than going around and neutralizing the festering maggots that whittle away at what good there is in this little shit hole, they focused on the issues that didn't matter. Nevermind that sadistic criminal fucks run rampant frequently in the most unprotected parts of town. No, they were out to either squash the imminent threat of magic (a concept that, meritoriously, he agrees with to a certain extent) or off to filch a Judge's favorite fucking scapegoat. Camulous was a stark reflection on the Guard and their misdeeds, all of which ranged from past to even the present. Even if he did save Lanya from a wrongful death at the death of governmental foul play, it doesn't alleviate the fact that he sent some stupid ass bigot to protect his best friend and it sure as hell doesn't make up for everything else, either.


Like a bullet fired from a gun, the gumshoe sprung to his feet. Metarie's hand moved away just in time to not be slung from his person like a rock. "Okay, fucker," Everett chided. "Let's do this shit. If my assumption's correct, you'll at least have a strong jab from all that whacking off you do in your office. Hopefully you prove me right; I think I got wisdom teeth that need to be knocked out and I'm too cheap for a dentist." Everett's jaw set and he looked him over thoughtfully for a second, his body rested squarely on the edges of his feet. "The only question now is whether you are left or right hand---"

The dull yet sweet drone of the bard made Everett fall quiet for a second. The sweet undertones of details that were obvious! If there was anything this chick had aside from an indiscernable ass and a cute face, it was a penchant for ruining a perfect moment. The corner of his eye fixed on Camulous, he held up his prosthetic arm and glanced to Lanya. The movement of the metal arm was stiff and was an obvious effort on his part. He'd get a due beatdown in the next few seconds. Since she was the reason why he was here, he decided to respond.

"If you guys would consider the gravity of the situation," Everett proclaimed, gesturing towards the bard with a spare hand, "You'd see what I mean! Jeez!"

Everett's stance relaxed a little bit; his higher brain managed to win out against the brain that screamed no mercy and bloodshed. "That's the thing. You think Morlydar is gonna let you run around, free as a bird Lanya? No. And do you, Camulous, think that the fucker you cockride is gonna let you walk around knowing that the whole execution was a sham? Gods, no!

"I'm willing to wager all of my Bishani on the fact that conventional scrying isn't working for this damn place. Now, I'm not a sorcerer or anything like that shit but I know this place rests on some kinda "leylines," kinda like how the Gnomish engineering plants are; Metarie mentioned that to me a while back. She probably knows more than me. Anyway. If that means anything to people trying to look from the outside, it probably acts like a blanket over a bird cage. Lucian was perhaps sent here as an inadvertant mole of some kind, to sort of see where we were at in the scheme of things. Retaliation may not come now, but you can bet your ass it'll---"

The nerves that huddled around what was left of the side of his torso started to scorch with the heat of a thousand suns. His jaw suddenly locked and his mouth parted, face contorting into one of pain. Everett looked over to his metal arm and cursed at it. He was going to need that damn arm, but alas, it wouldn't be so. There was a bright blue-white flash from underneath and a harsh crack! as sparks cascaded out from underneath the sleeves of his trenchcoat.

The gumshoe slumped over a little bit, as a good portion of his body became little more than dead weight.

"Damn it."

[Camulous Smithson]

Okay, fucker. Let's do this shit...

The response came as something of a relief. At least fighting was simple and direct, and would solve the immediate problem of getting him to stop mindlessly insulting anyone he wanted. Camulous enjoyed combat and was starting to become curious what sort of a fight this supposed detective could put out.

Camulous readied himself to lead Everett out of the room, stepping around the table, when...

If my assumption's correct, you'll at least have a strong jab from all that whacking off you do in your office. Hopefully...

He started talking again. It was unbelievable. Did he want to fight or not? Everything in his behavior suggested he wanted nothing more than to duke it out for some irrational reason like impressing Lanya or taking out his anger at not having Metarie, and yet...

That's the thing. You think Morlydar is gonna let you run around...

... He kept talking. It still wasn't making Camulous mad. The captain had a fuse so long you could knit a sweater from it. He was now wondering how long Everett wanted to go before he actually did go outside.

Cam stood patiently and stared. One of his eyes squeezed narrower.

I'm willing to wager all of my Bishani on the fact that conventional scrying isn't working for this damn place...

In one ear and out the other the monologue went. Was the man completely oblivious? Did he forget that he was about to receive a beating, or did he think Camulous was actually going to just disregard prior events and forget about the fight because this detective was theorizing aloud?

Retaliation may not come now, but you can bet your ass it'll---

Finally he stopped because something happened to his arm. Thank the gods. Teodinus be praised. It was a wonderful opening.

"Are you done?" The captain's voice was blunt as a hammer. There wasn't enough time for a full answer. "Good."

With Everett back in his chair Camulous had to lean over to do his job, but he was finished waiting. He reached down to grab Everett by the collar with arms strong enough to haul him to his feet and every intention of dragging him out the door regardless of how much ranting was done in the meanwhile.

[Metarie]

Metarie's brows furrowed as she tried to concentrate. Everett stood, scraping the chair across the floor. The sound skittered across the top of her hearing and caused her to squint her eyes closed tightly. She would have to wait before she could heal herself.

"I am going to take a shower." This was said in a low tone to Lanya. Everett was in fine form and Camulous was in waiting mode.

Pushing off the wall, her movements careful, she turned to exit the kitchen and head for the shower. She felt the magic surge and cringed, feeling the waves sizzle against her back. Blackness filled her sight and nausea rose. The cringe caused her side to ache sharply.

Metarie rested her hand on the doorframe and then pushed off, heading to the bathroom again. If the two men wanted to act like ruffian boys, that was their choice.

[Lanya Caliope]

She watched in relative silence as Everett was ungraciously forced from the house. She wanted to follow and ask him to research for her...but she decided against it. He might not be returning, especially now that the captain was against his involvement. Not that the man seemed to care what anyone else thought or wanted, but it was a possibility she had to accept.

It was just as well. The information would've just made her own mental state worse, and she was struggling enough as it was. Arms tightly crossed over her chest, she remained leaned against the counter, staring at the floor as the commotion continued. She thought with a small chuckle that perhaps she would be called upon to fetch water or soup, should Camulous hurt Everett or vice-versa. It was the only purpose she was serving.

Ah. Now I see.

She closed her eyes and raised both eyebrows, exhaling hard through her nose as the realization hit her. She could not shake the sense of listlessness which had settled over her frame. She'd felt weary for the past few days regardless, but now this sense was coupled with the distinct and ever-pervasive knowledge that she was serving no true purpose here.

Normally the solution would be simple. She was a traveler by trade now, and the need to move had woven itself into her natural impulses until it was an ever-present craving which demanded to be satisfied. She toyed with the thought of leaving, turning it over and over in her mind. The idea was tempting, very tempting. At the very least she wanted to pleasure of camping somewhere alone, strumming her guitar's strings and enjoying the wide space she could imagine was hers for a short while.

But Metarie had just gone through a horrid experience while trying to protect her. The elf had bid her to stay locked within the bedroom while a man accosted her no more than twenty paces away. Coupled with the loss they'd both just suffered, losing yet another perceived ally might prove to be too much for the healer. Lanya did not feel it would be fair to remove herself when she might at least be able to offer the elf some form of reassurance.

She was hesitant to call herself a friend of the healer, but she would not abandon a woman who'd just gone through so much on her account. It was too vile a concept.

And she admitted to herself that she had her own selfish reason. Metarie had said she might like to teach the bard some healer's craft when the opportunity arose. If Lanya left now and in the future encountered a stranger in need of the sort of assistance she'd passed up on learning, she would never forgive herself.

No, she would not leave. But she had to get out.

She pushed off from the counter and began moving towards the bedroom in the hopes the door was open. She wanted to take up Greenfyre and leave for a short while, just go and find somewhere quiet. Or perhaps even conduct an impromptu performance in the streets, where the passers-by could dance and sing and carry on and occasionally offer her spare change for her efforts.

She smiled at this last idea. It would do the trick nicely; she would be outside of this place but not so exposed that it was an outright danger, and make a little coin to the side. She had none of her own with which to purchase supplies and travel on as it was, and so needed to perform and regain some of her earnings. And bringing smiles to people's faces on the street could easily lift her spirits and reawaken some semblance of self-worth.

She knocked upon Metarie's door cautiously, testing to see if it was locked before trying to enter and retrieve Greenfyre.

[Alibi of Tyrants]

Lopsided and off-balance as he was, Everett wasn't about to be manhandled by the likes of this arrogant fop. However, he also knew that if he even attempted to mount some sort of countermeasure to the grapple that he would easily get thrown around due to the loss of most of his balance. Worse, he could actually see himself in a losing fight against some stupid jack-off from the Guard. It was already a galling blow to his pride that his arm decided to take the penultimate shit on him; it was even worse that he looked at some member of the Guard and thought that maybe being reactionary wasn't the best way to go about doing it. He wanted to swear, punch, and spit in this bastard's face now that he was face-to-face with him, the very embodiment of what the Guard should be and how it should act, all a crock full of nothing in a suit of tin. He had a whole list of reasons to hate him and a whole list of reasons to plow him.

There was too much at stake here, though. Someone was blatantly victimized by the very government that he works against day in and day out. And there was evidence---not in front of him, but certainly there if he dug around long enough! This was a big break for him and he wasn't about to let it go.

So, he reacted. Mildly.

With a deceptive quickness, Everett swiped his free arm around and batted the looming hands of Camulous away as if he were hungry and swiping at extant crumbs. As much as he wanted to take a quick swipe at his jaw in quick succession, Everett instead followed the gesture up with a quick step backward towards the door and out of Camulous's reach. It wasn't much, but it was enough for him to at least talk.

"Look," Everett implored, somewhat half-heartedly, holding up his only good hand. "It may not look like it, but Metarie is probably one of my closest friends. Seriously. She's the one that took me out of my mother's womb and she was also the one who helped tack this damn paperweight on to my torso."

Everett sighed. "I was pissed off because I thought she knew better. Any fucker with half a brain could've seen that that Lucian's guy presence wasn't a sweet coincidence. It was an irresponsible decision and I was going to call her on it only because I fucking care. She is now knee deep in shit, just like the rest of us. I only want to try and help out here."

The fact of the matter is that Everett was still pissed off at Metarie for being so pigheaded and irresponsible with Lucian. However, he had to say what he could to try and diffuse the situation. Otherwise, he could investigating where the soap had fallen to in the shower while some motherfucker loomed over his backside...

[Camulous Smithson]

The captain was about to grab the would-be detective by the shirt when the man batted his hands away and was suddenly out of his chair and heading toward the exit. Camulous didn't put up much of a fight - he was not one whose hands could just be swatted away like a fly - but once again his desire to prevent Metarie's home from being the scene of yet more destruction prevailed, and he allowed Everett to make his cowardly retreat.

No, of course he didn't want to fight. He wanted to shoot his mouth off until the post-war calendar ran out of years, and continue hoping that somewhere in those words he could backpedal Camulous into agreeing with him. It wasn't going to happen. Cam was firmly of the opinion that Everett needed to have his nose broken as a learning experience. More words were not going to change that.

Unfortunately, Camulous was also coming to the realization that this Everett guy really didn't have any idea that words and actions weren't so easily retractable. The captain was not the most social of animals - he preferred thinking and acting over talking - but just as if instructing a new recruit who didn't know the ropes, sometimes an explanation was in order. Once, and only once.

"I've seen goblin children with more sense than you. Your lip wags like a spoiled brat who needs to see his father's belt. If this was really about her, you'd have shut your mouth a long time ago. This is not about her and it has never been. This is about you and your self righteous disrespect. You are an imbecile and you think nothing of the bile that shoots out of your mouth. You have made an enemy of me and a misery of her day for your own personal relief, and do not attempt to tell me that this was for her because those are a child's excuses.
She told you to leave, and now I'm telling you to leave. I'm not saying it again. Get out or you're going to jail."

[Metarie]

Metarie faintly heard the knock on her bedroom door through the sound of the falling water. Lanya would figure out that she was not in the room soon enough, so Metarie continued to stand in the nearly scalding water as if the heat would wash away her foolishness, her gullibility, and her uncharacteristic behaviour. After all, it had been a ploy and a lie and she had fallen for it. And now despite her neither saying she did or did not, thanks to Everett's comments everyone knew.

Metarie had not told Everett about the unusual properties of her home because it was not something she wanted spread around. Certainly, it did not go unnoticed by the Judges, but a certain dispensation gave her some leeway - not much, but some. Metarie wondered how he had known. Was he, too, a spy for all his blustering self-righteous posturing against the government?

As for Lanya, the woman did not have to sleep on the front stoop of her home, not that a broken door and a broken healer would have offered much protection in any case. No... Metarie shook her head. Metarie was indeed the one in the wrong. She believed Camulous when he said the assassain had fled and let her guard down. She had let herself be vulnerable. Disgust at herself clenched in her gut. She would do best to remain aloof, giving only of herself that which was needed for healing - although that did make her vulnerable - now that she knew how alluring a connection like that could be she would freeze any fires. Next time, if there was a next time, she would resist it.

Stepping back, she carefully washed her hair and her body. The bruises were still livid on her skin - fingerprints on her wrists and the flowering pattern that bloomed over her right side. She would heal her ribs, but only enough to mend the bones. The bruises she would keep to remind her of her failure. Metarie gingerly lowered herself to sit on the bottom of the tub and leaned back. Closing her eyes, she let the sound of the water hitting the cool porceline and her skin lull her and allow her to connect with the Dreaming. Cooler than the water, but warmer than her skin, she felt the magic come to her and envelope her. Energy built up and her hands began to tingle. Pressing her hands against her side, Metarie saw what was not right and willed it to mend and join back together once more. By the time she was done, the water had become luke-warm and a chill peppered her skin.

Tilting her body, Metarie moved to her knees and shut down the water. Stepping from the shower, she retrieved a towel, dried off, and put on clean clothes. She had no idea what would greet her when she emerged.

[Lanya Caliope]

The bard was perched upon the lower corner of the bed, her rump resting just high enough to prevent her from sliding down along the comforter to the floor. She would not move any further towards the center of the bed, and would refuse any future offers to sleep on the bed; although she did not judge Metarie's actions, she did not want to lie in the middle of them.

She had sat here several minutes ago, staring at the guitar as it pulsed gently against the wall. She longed to play, but she hated its presence and being. The fact that it was alive in some way only made it worse, for although she felt no affection for the thing and had even tried to destroy it herself, it was a living being. The longer she kept it, the more attacked she would become. The higher the likelihood of feeling guilt when she finally found the way to destroy it once and for all.

She'd shaken off her thoughts and taken up the instrument moments before Metarie stepped into the bedroom. Flame sat on the bard's shoulder as her fingers played against the strings, a simple scale for practice alone. She greeted Metarie with a warm, welcoming smile, and the sides of her eyes crinkled with friendly intent.

She flexed her fingers, tightening the joints until they nearly popped, and pondered a moment. Her eyes unfocused as she thought on what to play, knowing that she wanted to play something.

She gave up with a wan smile and closed her eyes, letting her fingers and impulses guide her choice. The melody which emerged was a quiet, gentle song of farewell and departure between two lovers. She played the slow melody for several long moments, eyes closed as she let the somber rhythm drift inside of her skin.

She sang, letting her voice build in a slow and steady trickle to intertwined with the guitar's, rather than draw away from the music.

Before we steam and send, steady to the sun.
A simple tale of woe, your hearts will be undone.
A love song to everyone I know, arms wide open, here we go.

She opened her eyes here to watch herself play, one foot tapping as the slow beat continued.

She weaves a trail of petals through the dark and dreary ice,
Her hair is warm to the touch, her flowers twice as nice.
And if he stands on the moon he can barely catch her eyes,
Always open to the sky.

And so we land only to find we never left the ground...

As the words of the song finished she opened her eyes to look at Metarie. The purpose of the song was to offer some sort of comfort beyond words or a physical embrace, something which could reach deeper and perhaps lance any wound the elf might need to have healed.

[Metarie]

Metarie had no idea, but she certainly had a good idea. There was the sound of footsteps and the bed creaking as weight was placed upon it. When she opened the door, the scent that was Lanya preceeded the sound of Lanya's finger's plucking notes over strings.

Lanya smiled at her half-heartedly, so Metarie returned the smile. Was this a discomfort between them now? Because of her own foolishness and gullibility? Perhaps. Metarie set her face into it's usual pleasant mask and moved to the wardrobe. Keeping the towel clutched closed with one hand, Metarie pulled the first pair of pants available to her touch out of the wardrobe with the other. With her back to Lanya, she let the towel slip so that it bunched around her waist enabling her to pull the pants on. Metarie reached for a feminine undergarment and drew it on.

Notes filled her room. Metarie reached for a tanktop, her usual garment. The music was sad. It crawled under skin. Blankly Metarie stared at the soft fabric as it lay across her hands. The words were lovely, but they left her numb. The only wound in Metarie's mind was to her pride and intelligence. Everett had been right. She had been a fool. Metarie forced herself into motion - quick and perfunctionary. The top was pulled on. The towel retrieved and rubbed through her hair. Already the vegetable dye had started to fade, leaving her hair more auburn than fiery red.

When the last notes of the song finished, Metarie stretched and rolled her shoulder forcing the stiffness out of it.

"A lovely song, Lanya." Metarie smiled. "Have the men finished?"

[Lanya Caliope]

The song had been a gift intended to start the healing process of any emotional scars the elf might possess, but it was plain enough that the bard had misjudged the situation. Lanya suppressed a sigh as she shrugged her shoulders lightly in response to Metarie's question. The men had been squaring off and exchanging jabs when she left, and in an effort to avoid the entire situation, she had simply left.

"I believe the good captain was steadily removing Everett from the premises."

She kept the guitar in her lap, for the sheer comfort of holding the familiar instrument, as she pondered over her next words. The healer clearly did not want to discuss what might have happened, and it was not Lanya's business besides. She realized now that she should not have waited for Metarie to emerge; now, in the elf's presence, she needed to discuss her own intentions.

She thought of how she would phrase herself. There was something beyond the human desire to be alone and do things for herself; she wanted to reclaim ownership of herself. She had been carted and ordered about for long enough that she was losing her sense of personal competence. The captain had said the assassin was gone; she was a grown woman who had taken good enough care of herself for long enough that it was natural for her to simply admit when it was time for her to go. She did not need to ask permission; she was not a criminal and she was not under house arrest.

She produced another wan smile and spoke.

"I have not yet decided how much longer I will remain here. The danger is passed, and there is a point where I become a burden rather than a guest."

She stood now, swinging the guitar in a careful arch to her side.

"If it is no trouble, I would like to remain for another day or two - so that I might be sure I am fully recovered before traveling on."

She tapped the edge of the guitar's base against her booted foot with a larger smile.

"Though I admit I could use time away, for myself, today."